


i said i'd never never be angry with you

by SmittyJaws



Series: you're my best friend [2]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, I Don't Even Know, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, ace!Deaky, ace!reader, and it's serious but also adorable?, they bicker like kids in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:03:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmittyJaws/pseuds/SmittyJaws
Summary: You and John might bicker, but at the end of the day, you still love each other.





	i said i'd never never be angry with you

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I want to thank: @glamrockmonarch for her kickass headcanons, and @brian-may-likes-dust for putting up with all my agonizing over this fic as I wrote it/live-texted her my updates to the fic xD you’re stellar, and I love you both 💜💜💜
> 
> Very slight AU, mostly in that this story assumes asexuality is more visible/discussed in the 70s (still stigmatized much like any deviation from “standard” heterosexual relationships though), but otherwise not much else is different aside from my lapses in memory regarding other historical information. Fic title is taken from the lyrics to Need Your Loving Tonight.
> 
> Also, given that asexuality is a spectrum, and this character is directly based off my own experiences being ace, I know not everyone may identify with this ace character. With that said, though, I hope people enjoy my angst-filled ace romance!

Some days you can’t believe how lucky you are. Your uni studies are going well, you’re managing to (mostly) balance your finances with your part-time job, and you’re sure you have the best boyfriend in the world. 

 

Ever since you and John came out to each other a few weeks back, your relationship has been going so smoothly. You’re still a little wary of something going wrong (nothing’s perfect, after all), but you’re in uncharted territory now that you’re actually dating someone who’s also ace. For the most part, you’re just trying to take things as they come and not overthink your relationship.

 

Neither of you are out to the rest of the band except you to Freddie, and the three of you have turned deflection about yours and John’s sexual love life into an art form. Any time anything comes up (mostly from Roger; Brian is still so focused on his studies that you’re not entirely sure how he functions in the real world sometimes), you or John will give a non-answer, and Freddie will invariably distract Roger with some other wild topic of conversation, thus leaving your privacy intact. You figure you should probably tell them sometime, but watching Freddie turn these conversations into humorous and confusing anecdotes is hilarious to watch and John’s of the opinion that it’s not really Roger’s and Brian’s business anyway. You agree to disagree on that topic, saying that you’d like to have at least a few people you can be honest with about this, but that you’ll respect his wish not to bring it up.

 

You find yourselves spending a lot more time together now, often times spending the night at each other’s flats. It’s gotten to the point where both of you have drawers of clothing and spare keys, and you’ve both joked that you should really just move in together at some point to save money. Until then though, you enjoy your partial cohabitation, waking up in the morning cuddled up together, nuzzling your face into John’s hair (or him into yours), sometimes waking him up with a kiss on his nose if you’re up first just to see him blush. It works every time without fail, and you’ll never get tired of seeing his sleepy smile as his face goes adorably red.

 

Both of you are shamelessly in love (to which Roger makes exaggerated gagging sounds at the tales of simple domestic things that you’re both happy with), but you and John also admit you can both be quite moody at times, especially if you feel slighted. You’re still making that effort to learn about each other, and the road isn’t always smooth. 

 

Because you know things won’t always be smooth, the two of you make sure to have a discussion about boundaries and what you’re both comfortable with soon after coming out, so as to avoid similar misunderstandings in future (although you both look back and laugh at his phrasing now, how his seemingly innocuous request had been interpreted so differently). 

 

You ask John to clarify what he’d meant before about being open to sex, and he explains that it’s more that he likes the mental/emotional concept of sharing that intimacy with someone than a sexual urge. He knows you’re not comfortable with it, though, and he reassures you that he’s happy with what you have together. Oddly enough, he’s not as comfortable with kissing, which intrigues you, but he really has no good explanation for that one. “It is what it is,” he eventually just says, shrugging. He’s not opposed to it, but won’t usually initiate it, and isn’t really a fan of snogging. This suits you just fine, and you’re glad you can be so open with each other. 

 

You also learn that John is very open to general physical contact, and enjoys just being close to you and knowing you’re near. And for all that John loves to hold you during the day, you find out that he loves being held in bed at night - he likes the warmth of having you close behind him, and likes feeling you hold him close. He’ll take your hand from where you’ve wrapped it around him and intertwine his fingers with yours, enjoying that connection as he drifts off to sleep. 

 

You make lots of memories over the next year of your relationship with John; some good, some bad. You both want this relationship to work, and as hard as some of the worse ones can be, the good ones more than make up for it.

 

——

 

One of your favourite memories you have of the two of you is actually one of your relationship Firsts, and it makes you smile every time you remember it/every time John reminds you of it, as you were half asleep at the time. 

 

You’d headed to bed after a long study session while John was off with the band recording demo tracks. You know they’re forced to keep odd hours at the studio to save money, but that doesn’t mean you have to like going to bed alone. You know John will be with you later on tonight, but it’s the principle of the matter. 

 

You’re woken up by the sound of keys rattling in the door, then light footsteps inside the flat. You know John’s trying to be as quiet and careful as possible so as not to disturb you, and you can hear him going about getting his bass and other things put away as he gets ready for bed. You had left a small lamp on for him so he wouldn’t be fumbling around in the dark, but that doesn’t stop him from (presumably) banging his shin on the small hallway table that he always seems to trip over. You hear an abrupt clattering and some muffled curses, but even after that, he’s still trying to not wake you. Right now, this is the funniest thing possible to your half asleep brain and you giggle quietly. 

 

You see the sliver of light under the door turn off, and hear the door creak open slowly as the footsteps approach the bed. You roll over and see John backlit by the light of the street lamp filtering in through the window, looking like a frizzy-haired tired mess in his baggy t-shirt and pants as he climbs in under the covers beside you. Looking at the state of his hair and remembering the fact that he’s tripped on that godforsaken table for the third time this week makes you giggle again, and John just gives you an amused look. “Glad you think I’m funny, love,” he remarks dryly as he settles in beside you where you’re facing him. 

 

You blame it on being so tired, but right now everything seems so much funnier, so you’re having a hard time stopping the giggles at his comment. You also blame your next action on being so tired, but right now you’re so happy and content and wanting to show John just how happy he makes you feel; you reach for him, gently brushing your fingers over his cheek as you lean in and give him a kiss. It’s quick, just a gentle brush of your lips together, but you feel that it conveys everything you wanted to tell him. Well, almost everything - you can feel yourself drifting back to sleep, but as you snuggle closer to John, you mumble an _“I love you”_ from where you’ve tucked yourself up against his chest, feeling so much affection in that moment. 

 

John later tells you that he’s never seen you do anything more adorable, and that he thinks that evening just made him fall in love with you all the more. 

 

——

 

Of course, not all relationship moments are good ones: despite all your similarities, you and John do have things you argue and bicker about like any other couple. He’s bothered by the cold in your flat, as you like to leave the windows open no matter the weather. He’d discovered this on one of his first visits, and it’s bothered him ever since. It’s a ridiculous argument, but you had refused to budge: 

 

“Why would you want the windows open, love? It’s freezing!” John is shivering slightly, and wandering around the flat purposely closing all the windows. 

 

“I told you; I leave them open because Mooney won’t be able to come in if they’re closed!” You’ve got your arms folded over your chest before you start retracing all of John’s steps, re-opening all the windows he’s just closed. 

 

“Who the _hell_ is Mooney?” John sighs and looks exasperated, watching you undo all the work he’s just done and letting the cool breeze back in. 

 

“Mooney is my neighbour’s cat! Sometimes they shut him outside and forget about him, so I leave the windows open so he can come inside,” you explain, a satisfied smirk on your face. 

 

John’s frowning in confusion now. “...I thought Patches was the neighbour’s cat?”

 

“That’s the other neighbour, you egg!” You laugh a little at his confusion, but stop when you see the exasperated frown return. 

 

“And Millie?”

 

“Another neighbour!”

 

“...how many cats actually stop by here on a regular basis?” John’s shivering again, but he’s looking at you extremely disapprovingly at this point. 

 

You have to think about that one for a moment. “Er... four to five? It varies week to week.”

 

“Jesus.” John’s pinching the bridge of his nose now like you’ve just given him the world’s largest migraine. “You’re worse than Freddie. So there’s Patches, Mooney, Millie, Lou, and Crawly?”

 

You mentally count them off in your head. “No, Cherry’s the fifth.”

 

“Then which one’s Crawly?”

 

“The upstairs neighbour’s boa.” You know you shouldn’t laugh at John’s look of sudden horror, but it’s too funny not to. “Oh come on! It’s not like Crawly actually comes here. I just go and visit sometimes.”

 

He still looks unhappy about it. “Are there really no other places these cats can go? I don’t mind one or two, but five is a lot. And it’s always bloody cold in here.”

 

“I don’t know, John. I just can’t stand the thought of them being out in the cold.” You’re frowning again now as well. “But I suppose I’ll try and keep more windows closed from now on, if it does bother you so much.”

 

“Thank you.” Neither of you are fully happy with this compromise, but you figure it’s better than nothing.

 

After a minute or two, you do apologize though, shoulders slumped as you face him. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like all the animals coming in and out, but it makes me feel like I’m helping a little. I try to make sure there’s only ever one or two over at a time and that they don’t stay very long. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here, and you’re much more important to me than pets that I don’t even own.”

 

“I know you are.” John takes your hand in his and gives you a small smile. “I know it won’t happen overnight, but I appreciate you trying for me.”

 

Since then, however, John has been trying to figure out a tactful way to suggest that you just leave your flat and move in with him - cat problem solved, and no potential boa visits! One can never be too careful, after all.

 

——

 

The animals in your flat are John’s bone of contention with you, and yours... his dishes. Every time you visit, you find engineering textbooks scattered all over available surfaces, as well as used plates, bowls, and glasses aplenty; the telltale signs of long study sessions where John’s likely just eating as he works, caught up in his work and only pausing when his body reminds him that he does need food (if his study time is anything like yours). As much as you understand what a busy schedule can do for your cleanliness, it’s been a source of frustration for a while now:

 

“I don’t see why you can’t just put them away as you finish with them, Deaks.” You’re puttering around, stacking up every dish you can spot, and making trips to the sink with them to at least make an attempt to organize. You won’t touch his books and notes (you refuse to interfere with the studying process), but dirty dishes are something you absolutely cannot abide by. 

 

“I was going to take care of that,” John sighs, trying to stop you from cleaning up. You move too quickly for him, though, ducking away from his reach and moving more dishes around (why are there teacups under his bed???). 

 

“When, John? Some of these are starting to grow mould. Forget bacterial cultures, you’ve got full-blown civilizations here.”

 

“It’s not that bad, really. Please stop cleaning up?”

 

“Whoops, I think this civilization has just started a revolution. It’s revolting.” You wiggle your eyebrows at your joke, but grimace at the sight of one particular bowl that looks like it may have held cornflakes at one time. “Time to overthrow the evil regime and instate a people’s republic.”

 

John rolls his eyes at your terrible pun. “It can’t possibly be that bad. Stop exaggerating.”

 

You tilt the bowl to face him, and watch his eyes widen. “It can, and it is. This looks like the land that time forgot, and it’s absolutely disgusting. It’s one step removed from growing legs and attacking me, for God’s sake! How do you live like this?”

 

“...uh.” The sight of that bowl appears to have left him lost for words, so you take advantage of his stunned silence and make your way back to the kitchen, where you waste no time running the water to a scalding temperature, trying to rinse off as much of the mess as you can. You then start filling the sink with slightly more manageable hot water and soap, preparing to scrub at every available surface until this is nothing but a horrible memory. 

 

“I really wish you wouldn’t, love.” John has followed you into the kitchen, and is leaning against the doorframe frowning as he watches you work with an urgency usually reserved for people running out of burning buildings. “I can take care of myself.”

 

“Clearly not - or things wouldn’t have gotten this bad!” You turn to face him, frustrated at his apparent lack of concern, before your anger deflates a bit. “You know it bothers me, is all. I know studying and the band keeps you busy, but it would be a lot more manageable if you just took care of things as they came up, rather than letting them sit and turn into...this.” You gesture behind you at the sink and the stacks of dishes. 

 

“I know. I never want you to feel like you have an obligation to clean up my messes, and I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like you need to.” 

 

“I know you are. Just... _please_ try to tidy up more often?” You don’t want to beg, but the sight of that cornflake bowl has left you slightly unsettled. 

 

“I can’t promise that I’ll be great at that, but I’ll definitely try.” He has a far off look on his face, probably also visualizing that horrible dish. 

 

Years later, you’ll both joke and call it the Bowl of Doom, and none of the others understand why you’re laughing so hard. 

 

——

 

Sometimes you end up arguing over (what feels like) nothing at all, like the time you go to a party with the band after a concert. There’s lots of people you know there from school, as well as friends of Roger and Freddie’s that you’ve met at the market, and you find yourself drawn to their group for most of the night. You’re all laughing and joking, recalling terrible professors, hilarious pranks, and stories from Roger that are so outrageous you can’t be sure that they’re real, but you don’t really want to dig too deeply. 

 

John’s quiet later that night as you head back to his flat, and while you normally wouldn’t think much of it when you’re out as a group, you know he’s usually much more open with you, and you’re concerned. “You’re _sure_ nothing’s wrong?” You’re attempting to get him to talk to you, but it’s like trying to make a Palace guard crack a smile. John just shakes his head and mumbles something about just wanting to go to bed, and now you’re watching him with narrowed eyes, convinced something’s up. 

 

It turns out that there is (your instincts are hardly ever wrong when it comes to things like this); you try again when you get into the flat, cornering him before he can try to run to the loo and avoid you, and asking that he please just talk to you about anything.

 

“So _now_ you’d like to talk to me?” He’s plonked himself down on the ratty old sofa as he speaks to you. His voice isn’t raised, but there’s definitely an acerbic tone, and you’re a bit taken aback. John’s clearly a lot more upset than he’d initially let on, but for the life of you, you can’t think why he’d be this worked up. 

 

“What on earth do you mean? You know I do. John, what’s the matter?”

 

John is glowering at you, arms folded over his chest. “You barely said two words to me tonight while we were out. You spent most of the night with Freddie and Rog and their circle.”

 

“So? You know I’m friends with some of those people as well, right? We have classes together.” You fold your own arms over your chest as you stare right back at him, not giving an inch. You’re starting to put together his reasoning for being upset, but you don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle yet. 

 

“Yes, but would it have been so difficult to give me some of that time tonight? Your actual boyfriend, who’s barely gotten to see you all week? Or if you’d rather not, then why don’t you date Freddie or Rog, seeing as you seem to have such good times together?” He’s not looking you in the eyes anymore, and like magic, the last piece of the puzzle fits in - he’s jealous. 

 

You’re a little hurt that he would think that, but try to remind yourself that jealousy isn’t always a rational emotion and that on some level he’s hurting too and lashing out. You move to sit beside him on the sofa, feeling awkward just standing there in front of him in silence. You try to get him to talk now, but he’s clammed up and angling his body so he’s not facing toward you; at least he’s not actively trying to run away anymore, though. “Deaky,” you call softly, but he refuses to look at you. “Deaks.” Still nothing. “John.” His head tilts slightly, but he still won’t look at you fully. You sigh and stop trying to talk if he won’t answer, and decide instead to take advantage of the fact that his head is turned.

 

You start carding your hands through his hair, moving slowly and gently to prevent tangles, all the while humming some random Beatles tune. If he’s not going to talk to you, you’re going to just sit here and be with him. For however long he needs. You’ve gone through three songs and started making braids in some sections of his hair before you can finally feel the tension starting to seep out of his body. You gently undo the braids and keep combing through his hair, moving up to his scalp then running all the way down the length of his hair. Two more songs and John has completely relaxed, leaning up against you and turning his body slightly towards you as you continue to play with his hair.

 

Now that he’s moved in closer, you move some of his hair away from his face and tilt your head to give him a kiss on the cheek. “John love, never think that I’d rather date them. I could never want to be with anyone else but you. Rog and Freddie are friends, but that’s all they’ll ever be. They don’t get these moments I share with you.” You reach over and squeeze his hand gently. “And I never want to share them with anyone else. Only you.”

 

At that statement, John finally turns to face you, a slow smile growing. “You mean it?” he asks quietly, like he still can’t fully believe it. 

 

“Of course. I love you, even if you are a bit ridiculous sometimes.” He has the good grace to look a bit chagrined at that, but he knows you’re not too serious by the fond smile on your face. He wraps his arms around you tightly and holds you close, even as you murmur: “I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time with you tonight, though. I got so caught up seeing some of those old friends that I took you for granted because I knew I would see you later. Forgive me?”

 

John hums contentedly from where his face is buried in your hair, just breathing in the citrus scent of your shampoo. “Only if you’ll forgive me for being a complete ass on the way home. I’m sorry, love.”

 

You chuckle at the slightly sleepy note in his voice, then feel a yawn coming on yourself. “All’s well that ends well, sweetheart. Now come on.” You pat his knee. “Let’s go to bed.”

 

This isn’t the only time you have to reassure him of your affection, but you manage to work through it every time and always come out stronger for it. 

 

——

 

And then there are the downright ridiculous arguments. You found out a few months in that both of you are extremely competitive when it comes to certain board games, and playing on opposing teams is a surefire way to have someone storm off in rage.

 

You learn this the hard way when the band is booked for two gigs at an out of town venue...spaced 6 hours apart. You have a free day from work and uni, so you’re dragged along at Freddie’s insistence ( _“We can’t function without our staff, darling! You know what happens when you’re not here to help the others!” “Fine, but I want at least two beers out of this, Fred.”_ ). You spend far too long crammed into Roger’s tiny van with the others, although John does manage to fall asleep on your shoulder at one point, which is both endearing and unbelievable, given the uncomfortable setting. 

 

When you arrive at the venue, you’re headed into the small back room that serves as your dressing room/tuning area, and you all go about your normal business of setup and pre-show prep before the first concert. The show goes off without a hitch, although there are a few dodgy lighting cables that you’re a little concerned about as you watch the show (John and his homework have clearly been rubbing off on you). Afterwards, you mention them to John and he goes to take a look at them, while Roger is somehow already bored and wants something to do. He wants to go out and find some women, but both Freddie and Brian shut him down quickly ( _“No, because you’ll never come back, and where would you find someone to shag at 3PM on a Wednesday, anyway?”_ ) and someone suggests a board game instead.

 

It turns out that the only choices available are Scrabble or Risk, and you and Roger quickly shut down Brian’s vote for Scrabble, knowing he usually wins. “Besides,” you point out, “Risk takes longer to play anyway, so it’ll fill more time.” Brian begrudgingly agrees, but insists that he gets first pick of the coloured troop tokens as recompense. As soon as he snags the red tokens, you grab the blue and black ones for yourself and John, knowing he’s still off looking at the cables. Freddie doesn’t look very enthused by the game, and Roger is rubbing his hands together in barely-disguised glee. When John returns a few minutes later, he settles down beside you, looking amused at the game choice and play begins. 

 

One hour into the game, and it’s still light-hearted fun. Jokes are being made, and everyone’s enjoying the distraction from the long wait time. 

 

Two hours into the game, there’s a palpable tension in the room as the tabletop battles wage. Freddie’s army is defeated very quickly (although you really don’t think he tried all that hard), and he has declared himself the impartial adjudicator, to which there are many protests about his biases as the game goes on. 

 

Three hours in, and Brian is out now as well, and he makes no effort to hide his bias while you and John work together to decimate Roger’s few remaining troops. Freddie is providing colour commentary for every successful attack, and Brian has moved to the lumpy couch to work on either a new song or some astrophysics coursework. As busy as he seems to be, though, he makes no effort to hide his snickering at Roger’s look of dismay when John defeats his final army and takes the African continent for himself. 

 

Four hours in, and the competition has ramped up. The action is slow at this point, but John is a ruthless player and refuses to go easy on you, and likewise you won’t give him an inch. Meanwhile, Roger has decided to make himself your war strategist, and has crept closer to your side of the game board (you and John have since moved to opposing sides now), whispering tactics into your ear about how best to take John out and secure your victory. Most of them aren’t very good tactics, but there’s a few good strategic moves in there that help you out. John cries foul at Roger helping you out like this, but short of physically removing Roger from the room, no one is going to do anything about it, and as you argue back to John, unless Rog magically swaps out the game dice for loaded ones, he can’t really do much to affect your gameplay. John grumbles a bit, but accepts this in favour of moving on. 

 

Five hours in, and you’re about ready to kill someone. There’s not a lot of ground being gained by either yourself or John, and anything you do gain is negated by his next turn. Brian and Freddie have gotten bored and have stopped paying attention to the game, opting to nap instead. Roger’s the only one still invested in this game besides you and John, and even his strategy advice isn’t helping much. At this point you’re just waiting for a stroke of luck to turn the tide in your favour. Then you see John frowning and looking back and forth between the board and you. “What’s all this then?” He gestures at where you’re preparing to attack Alaska from Kamchatka and complete your takeover of North America. “You didn’t have that many armies there a moment ago.”

 

You just stare at him. “Yes, I did.” 

 

“Not bloody likely! You had half that last turn! Are you sneaking your extra pieces up from Australia to give yourself an advantage?”

 

“John Richard Deacon, are you accusing me of cheating?” Your eyes are narrowed as you continue to give him a hard stare, but he meets your gaze and won’t back down. 

 

“If the shoe fits.” He folds his arms across his chest, glaring. The room had been silent up until a moment ago, Brian and Freddie fast asleep napping, and Roger flipping through the game manual out of boredom. Now however, he’s watching with rapt attention and a shit-eating grin as he watches the two of you fight over the game, only interacting to point out that you did indeed have that many armies on your territory; you’d traded in a set of cards and had chosen to add all your new armies to that one territory. 

 

John goes deathly silent at this, and just fixes Roger with a withering glare. “No one asked you, Rog.”

 

Roger just raises his hands in mock surrender, muttering something about getting up on the wrong side of the bed and decides to back off from the conversation. 

 

You cross your arms right back at John and fire back at him: “Listen to the pot calling the kettle black! Don’t think I haven’t seen you double-dealing yourself cards when you think nobody’s looking.”

 

“That was _one time_ , and it was an accident!”

 

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed. “ _Of course_ it was. And those extra cards that just seemed to show up in your possession far too frequently?”

 

“Those were Roger’s and Freddie’s from when they got eliminated because they weren’t bothered to trade half of them in while they were still playing!”

 

The bickering continues, both of you knowing you’re not completely in the right, but neither of you wanting to admit you’re wrong. It stays at a tense stalemate until someone comes to remind the band that they’re on in 20 minutes, and you and John refuse to speak to each other for the rest of the night. Needless to say, it’s a very quiet ride back home.

 

You both apologize the next day when you’ve both cooled down a bit, and agree that you should never play Risk against each other anymore, for both of your sakes. 

 

——

 

Sometimes the hardships you encounter aren’t due to arguments, but simple illnesses. You’re usually more prone to getting sick than John is, but you try to play it off and carry on as normal. Missing classes or work will set you back a fair amount, so you don’t like to skip out, even if you feel like death warmed over. 

 

Of course, John knows when you’re putting up a front (the man is far too observant for his own good), and refuses to let you do anything the moment you get back to your flat, herding you into bed even though you insist that it’s just a cold and you can take care of yourself. You’re a little confused, though, and stop your slow shuffle to the bedroom to turn and look at him. “I thought you had band rehearsal tonight?”

 

John shakes his head. “That was moved to Thursday; we talked about this a couple of days ago. I’m not surprised that you don’t remember that, though, seeing how ill you look. Now come on - you need rest.” He collects an extra blanket from the closet while you’re getting ready for bed, and makes sure he spreads it out evenly all over where you’re lying in bed, shivering. He leaves you with a copy of your favourite book to read, and you can hear him pottering about in the kitchen as you try to keep warm. 

 

A few minutes later, he comes back with a small tray of food: a bowl of soup for you, a plate with some cheese on toast for him, and two cups of tea. He helps you sit back up, as the sickness has left you more tired than you previously expected (your body apparently gave up the last amount of energy you had when you lay down) and hands you the soup when he’s sure you’ll be alright to not spill it. John has to take the bowl from you a couple of times as you succumb to fits of explosive sneezes, but he makes sure you eat and drink as much of the soup and tea as possible, offering words of encouragement when you apologize for not being able to take care of yourself.

 

Once he clears the dishes away, he makes himself ready for bed and comes back to join you. He tells you that he’s not necessarily going to sleep right away, but you should try to get some rest. You hand John your book and ask him to read to you, and you drift off to the feeling of him rubbing your back where you’re curled up beside him for warmth, and the sound of his gentle voice reading to you from your book.

 

You wake up the next morning still curled up into his side with his arms wrapped around you, feeling much better than you did yesterday. It takes you a few days until you fully recover, but John’s there by your side as often as he can be. He even plays with Cherry for a little while when she pays a visit, and you watch them fondly from where you’re bundled up on the sofa, thinking again just how lucky you are. 

 

——

 

John doesn’t get sick very often (a fact you’re more than a little jealous of), but when he does, it’s like his body is trying to make up for the lack of frequency with high-intensity illnesses instead (a fact you’re not as jealous of). He also tries to play it off as though nothing is wrong, but that’s a lot harder to do when it’s so much more apparent that he’s ill.

 

Case in point: you’re currently at home reading a book, waiting for John to come home from the recording studio the band is working in, yawning a little due to the late hour. Suddenly there’s a knock on the door, and when you answer, it’s Brian with a very out-of-it John slumped into his side. You’re a bit surprised at first, but then he explains what’s wrong and you’re less surprised. “He collapsed in the sound booth, and he’s rather feverish,” Brian says, and you can hear the concern in his voice. “I stepped out quickly to drive him home to you, and the rest of us will keep working. We can record bass parts another day.”

 

You know John will feel terrible about this later as studio time isn’t cheap, but right now, he’s clearly in no state to do anything. Brian helps get John up to the bedroom and his bass and amp into the flat before he runs off apologetically. You wave it off; you know he’s not being rude by leaving quickly. You turn back to where John is sitting on the bed miserably, clearly not well. You feel his forehead and confirm Brian’s diagnosis: “God, John! You’re positively burning up! How long have you been sick for?”

 

He mumbles something incomprehensible from where he’s now leaning into you, and you sigh, knowing that the answer is most likely “long enough to have known better” and yet he still tries to carry on as though he’s fine. Somehow you manage to wrestle him out of his outfit and into his sleep clothing, which is difficult when John appears to have all the muscle strength of a wet noodle and barely any sense of coherency. 

 

You have to leave briefly to go grab your bottle of paracetamol (the only medicine you have in the flat, and you figure it’s better than nothing) and a glass of water, and when you return, John’s leaned up against the headboard, looking for all the world like he just wants to sleep forever. You somehow manage to coax him to take the medicine with some water (he spills a bit of water as his hands are shaky, but that’s easily cleaned), then get him lying down. 

 

Once he’s settled, John immediately curls up in a ball, and you feel your heart twist a little at the sight. You go about your business of getting ready for bed as quickly as you can, as you’re loath to leave him on his own for too long while he’s this sick. When you get to bed, John immediately moves in closer to you, leaning his head on your chest as he mutters something you can’t quite hear or understand. You can feel the heat radiating off of his body, and know you’re in for an uncomfortably sweaty night while he battles the fever. 

 

It’s all worth it when John wakes up a lot more lucid the following morning, though; still not fully well, but a sight better than the incoherent state he was in the day before. You still confine him to bed and make him rest, but he’s well on the road to recovery and you know he’ll be up and functional within the next day or two. 

 

——

 

Despite all that you might argue and fight, you know that you truly do love John, and wouldn’t trade what you have together with him for anything in the world. You’ve both seen each other at your best and at your worst, and you know that however bad your fights might get, the happiness you have together makes everything all worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr, if you want to hit up my dumpster fire of a blog!


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